Free Retief Unbound by Keith Laumer Page A

this instance," said Magnan. "Fust possesses a
vigorous steel-age manufacturing economy. The Groaci are barely ahead of
them."
    "Barely," said Retief.
"Just over the line into crude atomics .. . like fission bombs."
    Magnan, shaking his head, turned
back to his papers. "What market exists for such devices on a world at
peace?" he said. "I suggest you address your attention to the less
spectacular but more rewarding work of insinuating yourself into the social
patterns of the local youth."
    "I've considered the
matter," Retief said, "and before I meet any of the local youth
socially I want to get myself a good blackjack."
    Retief left the sprawling
bungalow-type building that housed the chancery of the Terrestrial Embassy,
hailed one of the ponderous slow-moving Fustian flat-cars, and leaned back
against the wooden guard rail as the heavy vehicle trundled through the city
toward the looming gantries of the shipyards. It was a cool morning with a
light breeze carrying the fish odor of Fustian dwellings across the broad
cobbled avenue. A few mature Fustians lumbered heavily along in the shade of the
low buildings, audibly wheezing under the burden of their immense carapaces.
Among them, shell-less youths trotted briskly on scaly stub legs. The driver of
the flat-car, a labor-caste Fustian with his guild colors emblazoned on his
back, heaved at the tiller, swung the unwieldy conveyance through the shipyard
gates, and creaked to a halt.
    "Thus I come to the shipyard
with frightful speed," he said in Fustian. "Well I know the way of
the naked-backs, who move always in haste."
    Retief, climbing down, handed him a
coin. "You should take up professional racing," he said.
"Dare-devil."
    Retief crossed the littered yard
and tapped at the door of a rambling shed. Boards creaked inside, then the door
swung back. A gnarled ancient with tarnished facial scales and a weathered
carapace peered out at Retief.
    "Long may you sleep,"
Retief said. "I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind. I
understand you're laying the bed-plate for your new liner today."
    "May you dream of the
deeps," the old fellow mumbled. He waved a stumpy arm toward a group of
shell-less Fustians standing by a massive hoist. "The youths know more of
bed-plates than do I, who but tend the place of papers."
    "I know how you feel,
old-timer," Retief said. "That sounds like the story of my life. Among
your papers do you have a set of plans for the vessel? I understand it's to be
a passenger liner."
    The oldster nodded. He shuffled to
a drawing file, rummaged, pulled out a sheaf of curled prints, and spread them
on the table. Retief stood silently, running a finger over the uppermost
drawing, tracing lines . . .
    "What does the naked-back
here?" a deep voice barked behind Retief. He turned. A heavy-faced Fustian
youth, wrapped in a mantle, stood at the open door. Beady yellow eyes set among
fine scales bored into Retief.
    "I came to take a look at your
new liner," said Retief.
    "We need no prying foreigners
here," the youth snapped. His eye fell on the drawings; he hissed in
anger.
    "Doddering hulk!" he
snapped at the ancient, moving toward them. "May you toss in nightmares!
Put aside the plans!"
    "My mistake," Retief
said. "I didn't know this was a secret project."
    The youth hesitated. "It is
not a secret," he muttered. "Why should it be a secret?"
    "You tell me."
    The youth worked his jaws and
rocked his head from side to side in the Fustian gesture of uncertainty.
"There is nothing to conceal," he said. "We merely construct a
passenger liner."
    "Then you don't mind if I look
over the drawings," Retief said. "Who knows, maybe someday I’ll want
to reserve a suite for the trip out."
    The youth turned and disappeared.
Retief grinned at the oldster. "Went for his big brother, I guess,"
he said. "I have a feeling I won't get to study these in peace here. Mind
if I copy them?"
    "Willingly, light-footed
one," said the old Fustian. "And mine is the shame for the
discourtesy